Mysterious Minds
by LoveShapedLightbulb
Summary: Tony finds himself in the clutches of a sadistic tormentor. Chapter 5, Forsake, posted. Rated M for plenty of things, current and upcoming. Eventual slash. Warnings inside. R&R, please.
1. Unexpected

**Title: **Mysterious Minds  
**Rating: **M (for later chapters)  
**Warnings:** Dark themes, slash, language

* * *

  
**1. Unexpected**

Swearing as he swung his backpack over his shoulder, Tony DiNozzo grabbed his jacket and skidded out the door. His groan was strangled by a half-thawed waffle when the door slammed against his hand. Jerking reflexively, Tony's bag spilled open onto the hallway floor.

A frustrated sigh escaping from his lips, he rested his head against the door and muttered to himself. "Just can't win this morning..."

After a week of showing up late, his eyes drooping and dark underneath, bruised from severe sleep deprivation, Tony had made a special effort. Armed with sleeping pills, he had gone to bed early, and woke up in a similar fashion. He hadn't actually been called out on his tardiness yet, but there was no need to push the boss-man's buttons. A fond smile flickered across his face as he thought of his supervisor, his mentor, his boss. An oldschool hardass, Gibbs was one of the few men that Tony truly respected.

_Well, maybe _this _will make him respect _you _more, _a voice in the back of his mind suggested, but Tony smirked at the idea. Showing up to work on time? Probably not much of a respect-earner.

"Need a hand?"

The voice behind him started the agent, nearly jumping out of his skin. He whirled around, and found the man to whom the voice belonged.

A gruff-looking guy, probably forty or so, was crouched just in front of him, shuffling some papers from his bag into some semblance of order. Tony observed him, noting a few scars marring his leonine face, the enormous bands of muscles, and the worn leather jacket. Very formiddable. He replaced the papers, along with a few random knick-knacks that had fallen out, and zippered the bag securely. Taking it back with a grimace of thanks, he stuck out his hand.

"Thanks," he said, rolling his eyes at himself, "Clumsy."

"We all have our moments," the stranger laughed, pumping his hand a few times, "I'm Marcus. Just moved in around the corner."

Noting the odd stressing on different syllables, Tony groaned inwardly at the idea of having another guy on his floor. And a foreign, older guy at that. Goodbye, ladies. But, on the surface, he put on his best welcoming grin. "Welcome to Hell," he joked, fumbling with his keys. He noticed his new neighbor's studded leather gloves and made a feeble attempt at small talk. "Nice duds. You ride?"

The other man hesitated for a moment, then recognition dawned in his eyes. He smirked and held up his hands, flexing his fingers. "Yeah, a bit. Bike's running a little... tough lately, though." He put his hands in his pockets, shrugging. Tony nodded, and turned to lock his door.

"Rough," he corrected, and continued nodding knowingly. "Know what ya mean, though. Used to have one. I'll tell ya, it's definitely the col-"

He was cut off as a strong arm pinned his own to his sides, and a gloved hand clamped a cloth over his mouth. He squirmed helplessly, his consciousness fading, his eyes fluttering as the deep voice chuckled in his ear.

"The cold is about to become the least of your problems, Anthony DiNozzo."

Everything went blank.

* * *

In the faint, early light of morning, the elderly woman in apartment 2B looked down into the alley her window opened onto. The lines in her aged face deepened into a frown as she spied her rowdy neighbor being carried over the shoulder of a burly bear of a man.

She muttered to herself, and her beloved Snowball, as he jumped onto the windowsill, batting at her gnarled hand. "What an atrocious young man. Carrying on like he does with easy young women one day,being carried off my strange men the next..."

Her eyes narrowed further as the young man was lain in the back of a mottled old van, and she scowled furiously as the stranged crawled in behind him, laughing.

She scooped up protesting Snowball in her arms, and snapped the curtains closed decisively. "Queer," she spat, listening as the van roared to life and rumbled away.

* * *

_Chapter 1 of what will hopefully be many. I'm such a tease. And, no, I do not condone that old lady's actions. R&R, please._


	2. Not What It Seems

**2. Not What It Seems**

Ziva hit the enter key seven times in quick succession, each time with more force, before finally shoving away the keyboard with a disgruntled huff. She crossed her legs and took to drumming on the desk. McGee glanced up, eyebrows raised, only to find the Israeli's bitter glare aimed at him.

"Uh... yes?" he looked around, making sure there was nothing else she could be staring at, before uneasily holding the eye contact.

"Where is that _dunk_?" she snapped, turning her eyes to the desk across from her, drumming her fingers ever louder. McGee took a relieved breath.

"Er, dunce, and I'm assuming you mean Tony," he said, going back to his computer. "And, honestly? No idea. Maybe he's sick."

"Fah," Ziva exhaled incredulously, and pulled her keyboard toward her once more. "He probably stayed out all night, _again_, and is sleeping late, as usual." She hit enter key again viciously. "Imbecile. If I were his superior, I would-"

"Did I miss the memo, Officer David?"

Ziva's face became instantly passive as Special Agent Gibbs strode in, customary cup of coffee in hand. The corner of McGee's mouth quirked up on one side, earning him yet another death glare from the woman, but managed to maintain his composure. His eyes never left the computer screen in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, Ziva found her voice again. "Pardon?"

Gibbs leaned over his desk, checking his station thoroughly. "Were you promoted? Have I been replaced?"

Officer David blushed minutely. "No," she stated lamely, staring at the desk before her.

"Then I _suggest_," Gibbs offered, setting down his cup for emphasis, "that _you_ worry about your own ass, and let _me_worry about DiNozzo." He sat and stared hard at Ziva's stoic face.

"Of course," she conceded quietly, ducking her head and returning to her keyboard. Satisfied, Gibbs glanced at his watch.

10:07

He leaned back with a heavy sigh, and looked over at his senior agent's desk. The usual organized mess of this and that. Maybe he really was just sick, and had forgotten to call in. _He'd have to be pretty sick_, his mind mused, and the man was inclined to agree. Sighing again, Gibbs stood and walked quickly back the way he came.

Ziva and McGee both started to follow, raising themselves from their chairs, but Gibbs threw up his hand behind him.

"Sit and _stay_," he barked, heading for the elevator. Both puzzled agents retook their seats.

* * *

Gibbs winced as he entered Abby's lab, the music nearly puncturing his eardrums. She stood, with her back to him, working furiously on one of her machines, sucking down another huge Caf-Pow! With a smirk, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Abby!"

No response. He took a deep breath.

"**ABBY!**"

She whirled around, eyes wide, still latched onto her energy drink. "Hey, Gibbs!" The forensic specialist scurried over to her CD player, cranking the volume way down, "Whatdya need?"

As Abby danced back to her computers, Gibbs followed, peering at the gibberish on the screen. "I was just wondering," he admitted, leaning heavily on her technology-ridden counter, "Have you heard from DiNozzo at all today?"

The young woman glanced sideways at him, a curious glint in her eyes as she asked, "What, Tony? He hasn't come in today?"

Gibbs shook his head, still glaring interestedly at the screen.

With a roll of her eyes, Abby hit a sequence of keys and the screen went black. "You and I_ both_ know that means _nothing_ to you," she ribbed, turning to face her old friend, "But I swear that I haven't heard anything from Tony." She sucked down the last of her beverage with a dejected look on her face, shaking the cup hopefully. "If he had called me, I would have passed on the message pronto." She tossed the empty container away, studying Gibbs' face with concern.

He nodded absently, patted her on the shoulder, and turned to leave.

"You could always call him!" Abby offered, yelling after him.

"Thanks, Abs," came the distant reply.

With a shrug of her shoulders, Abby scooped up Bert, who let out a roaring raspberry, and chattered to him as she turned back on her machines. "I know Gibbs," she confessed, typing furiously, "but I haven't seen him worried like this about someone showing up late to work." She squinted and placed the hippo on the desk before her, leaning over so they were at eye level with each other. "Don't tell me that wasn't concern, Bert. Gibbs is never what he seems." Her face fell, and she plucked at the silent hippo's feet. "I hope Tony's okay," she whispered to the stuffed animal, before clutching him to her chest.

* * *

As he stepped onto the elevator for the third time in a span of fifteen minutes, Gibbs ran a hand through his silvering hair. He was beginning to get worried, and his gut was telling him something was amiss. He had hoped his favorite forensic scientist would be able to quell his uneasiness, but Abby didn't know anymore than he did.

He didn't even bother going to ask Ducky- if Tony hadn't called Abs, he wouldn't have called Duck. But, standing there on the elevator, he had to admit that Abby's idea seemed like his best bet for the time being. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed DiNozzo's home phone.

After a half-dozen rings, it went to voice mail.

"HEY! You've reached Tony's voice mail! Sorry I'm not ab-"

Gibbs snapped the phone shut, grimacing at the younger man's exuberance. Especially so close to his ear.

Reopening the cell, he dialed the agent's cell number. This one went straight to the voice mail box.

"Hey, it's Tony. Sorry for missing your call. Please leave..." Gibbs listened, smiling at the significantly more subdued tone until he heard the _beep_. He steeled his tone.

"DiNozzo, it's _your boss_. You'd better be pretty sick, or have a good excuse, or you're gonna be in it deep when I get a hold of you. Call my cell."

_Snap._ He closed _the_ phone just as the elevator doors slid open.

He went back to his station and sat, thumbing through the stack of paperwork on his desk. Gibbs could feel the eyes of both underlings on him, the air full with their unasked questions. As Officer David opened her mouth, he shot into action, his tone slipping to the one he used in the elevator.

"If either of you so much as _thinks_ of asking me about Tony," he began ominously, his eyes never leaving his papers, "I will bury you in enough paperwork to last a year."

The tension broke quickly, and both sets of eyes snapped back within the confines of their own stations. Gibbs smirked as both of them buzzed away, working diligently, but inside he was still worried. His gut was telling him that something was not right, but he didn't want to overreact.

_You'd better be safe, DiNozzo, _he growled to himself, extracting what seemed to be the least boring file from his stack. His mind working furiously, he drained the last of his coffee and thre the cup toward the waste bin. Clipping the edge, it bounced off and tripped away, trailing dark dregs behind it. Bristling, the older man deliberately ignored it and went about his work.

* * *

_Ah, Gibbs, trust that gut! R&R please._


	3. Captured

_Sorry for the delay- my computer croaked. But thank you all for the positive feedback!_

**Warning: **Dark themes, very mild torture.

* * *

**3. Captured**

A gasp ripped from his throat as Tony jolted awake. Icy water had been thrown upon his bare skin, shocking the agent into consciousness. He heard a faint mirthless chuckle, and the shutting of a door as the encroaching darkness wrapped itself closer around him. He could not see anything, no light lingered for his eyes to adjust. Just pitch, stark, deep darkness.

He searched the blank space before him with wild eyes, praying fervently for some glimmer of light. When he realized it was hopeless, Tony assessed his situation quickly, willing himself to stay calm.

Not even a sliver of light from beneath a door remained- but something about the room made Tony know that it was not a small space. The air was damp, and surprisingly warm. It made the ice water cling to him, and he shivered convulsively. The mixture of warmth and cold confused his body.

His clothes were gone, except for his boxers, and he was tied to a slanted surface. Shoes, socks, pants, shirt- all gone. His gun was definitely missing; and, if he was practically naked, his knife was gone, too. Gibbs would have shot him. Tony lifted his head experimentally and was relieved to find it hadn't been secured. With a sigh, he moved his investigation farther down his body.

A tight, thick strap across his chest, wrapping around his shoulders, restricting his already-troubled breathing to the point of pain. He squirmed, trying to find some relief, but nothing helped. He gave up before his frustration got the best of him and continued the check-list.

Hands. Restraints on his wrists, already cutting in and leaving the skin raw. The distinct clank of metal against metal as he rattled his arms. He was shackled to the table.

_Well_, he supposed, clinking his chains rhythmically, _bad information is better than no information._

The inspection went on.

His legs were bound in a similar way, tight bands around his ankles and chains holding him to his planar took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the chilly metal, calmly going through every angle of his situation. Start simple.

How did he get here?

Well, _that _was easy enough. His lovely new "neighbor".

Who wanted him here?

Tony appreciated Marcus' apparent brute strength, but doubted that he was the brains behind this whole situation.

Most importantly... _why?_

He ran through the options over and over again in his head, checking every cranny of his crowded mind, but he knew exactly why he was in this predicament.

His undercover operation.

He wished his hands were free; Tony desperately wanted to punch something. He wished he had listened to his conscience and turned down the director's request. After the horrible mess with the Frog, he had enough of covert ops.

But, for whatever deranged reason, he had said yes. He had accepted the mission.

The agent ran every detail through, forward and backward, up and down, but could not pinpoint a specific villain to want him to suffer.

So far, he had only gather intel- he was preparing to integrate himself, telling the team he was going on an extended leave. With the help of one man who'd had a change of heart and alerted Director Sheppard to the threat, he had been mentally preparing himself for weeks. It was going to be tough, but not as tough as the last mission. Not as tough as breaking his own heart, as well as Jeanne's.

_Seems now you'll just have your body broken_, he mused mirthlessly, rattling the chains noisily. He wished his captor would reveal himself so his mind would stop racing helplessly.

As if on cue, an ominous creaking and squealing of a sealed door broke out behind him.

* * *

Tony didn't know why he was surprised- having the door open right in front of him would have been a cliche. And not nearly so effective.

A murky, yellow light filtered in through the portal behind him, throwing shadows around the room, distorting all shapes and objects. His prison's shadow was splayed on the wall, ten feet or so away, and he could barely now make out the contents of the room. Boxes, stacked precariously along filthy walls. Horrifying tools thrown into piles with weapons as commonplace as a baseball bat, a hammer, a kitchen knife. Chains hanging ominously from piping and steel frame, the bare unfinished ceiling dripping and oozing.

In essence, the set of a horror film. Tony's skin crawled as plots tore through his mind, racing circles around his head.

Then he heard the footsteps.

He lay perfectly still, his eyes closed to slits as he awaited the approaching figure. He wasn't surprised as Marcus lumbered into sight. The mass of muscle came close, examining the helpless man before shining a light directly in his face.

Tony didn't move an inch. Marcus went to turn away, and jumped as the supposedly unconscious man spoke.

"Gee, Marcus," he drawled sarcastically, "If I'd known you wanted a welcome party, I woulda brought some booze." His eyes snapped open and he glared at the lying son-of-a-bitch. "I am pretty easy-sleazy when I'm drunk. Wouldn't have needed to _kidnap me _to get my clothes off."

The other man chuckled again, the sound and memory sending unpleasant shivers pitter pattering up Tony's spine. He moved to run a hand down the restrained man's cheek, but the capture snarled at him ferally, earning another chuckle.

"I just do what I am told, my friend," Marcus said, laying the flashlight on the ground and clicking it on. Tony could not keep the curiosity off his face, but the grin that spread across Marcus' lips made him wish he could.

"Not for your benefit," he explained, turning the light to the wall. Tony blanched white as he heard the quiet squeaking and rustling that had thus far evaded his ears. He suddenly wished he could pull his legs up further from the floor.

Marcus let out a harsh bark of laughter as Tony turned his face to the side, eyes squeezed, unwilling to look at the rodents criss crossing the floor beneath. "We know how to make you squirm, Anthony," he murmured, retrieving the light and stowing it away. "But we'll make you do much more than that."

The burly man sauntered out of sight, and Agent DiNozzo moved hesitantly, getting himself as far from the floor as possible. Every inch of his skin was charged, and crawled with revulsion.

Marcus' voice sang out, distant.

"He's up."

The young captive tried desperately to not think of what was coming.

* * *

The sound of expensive shoes smacking cement echoed throught the room as Tony's true enemy approached. He kept his eyes shut, save for slits, as he had with Marcus, but he knew it was useless. The approaching man had been alerted that his prey was alive and kicking, and would see through the ruse immediately.

Tony was for a third time, not surprised. This time, at the man who walked into his field of vision.

A verging-on elderly gentleman, dressed tastefully in expensive clothing, his thinning silver hair cut short and combed flawlessly into place. Deep lines in his face, and one eye a milky, unseeing gray. The other, lively and electric blue, glittered in the leather-like skin.

"So," the old man said, gazing at his prey, "Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Our little trouble-maker. Welcome to Hell."

Tony stared defiantly back, but flinched at the words. He must have been listening the whole time during the abduction. "I've seen worse," he spat, and the old man laughed pleasantly. You would think they were chatting over a cup of tea, the man was treating this situation so lightly.

"Oh, I'm certain of that. Be we have hardly begun!" Tony gasped as the man was suddenly by his side, and an unexpected, searing hot pain dragged down the length of his abdomen. An incision, sending shots of pain screaming through his brain, dripped a raw, blatant red. His tormentor grinned as he peered at the agonized man.

"Marcuse was quite right, I must say. You _do _have an unbelievably expressive face." With a snap of his fingers, Marcus came scurrying into the room with an old Polaroid camera. With a grateful nod, he took the device and snapped several pictures of Tony's face and body.

"You're a sick bastard," Tony half growled, half groaned, aching to put pressure on the slice.

"Oh, you have _no _idea."

Tony muffled a scream as a white-hot piece of metal pressed against the wound, melding his broken skin back together again and it slid up the bloody strip. A raised, red line took its place, and Tony wavered at the sent of his own charred flesh.

The old man stood before him, his pleasant smile swimming in and out of focus.

"There is, however, one thing you must do for me, before we begin."

Tony's breath was ragged, and he cursed himself for being so weak. "What's that, you prick?"

The coy smile widened.

* * *

Tony's heart beat faster as pictures were held up in front of him. Blurry, as if taken by a moving camera phone, but clear enough for Tony to recognize.

Headquarters.

A man at the security desk, waving pleasantly.

And Gibbs. An awfully carefree picture of the man laughing.

His tormentor noticed the change, whether in the air or his eyes, and nodded.

"Your boss, yes? Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs," the name rolled off his tongue smoothly, and DiNozzo wanted nothing more than to rip it from his mouth. "Quite the impressive man. A commanding presence, no doubt-"

"He has nothing to do with this," Tony hissed, his eyes smoldered with a fierce hatred.

"I am aware, my dear boy," he acknowledged, studying the picture carefully, tracing a finger along the edge of Gibbs' laughing profile. Another animal noise rushed from the captive's lips. "But you are so very fond of him." Tony's breath caught in his throat. He held onto what little composure he had left as the finger continued tracing. "I believe we can use that."

The agent pressed his lips in a hard line, and closed his eyes fully. The wind was fully knocked from his lungs as something connected with his stomach.

"We have not even started extracting information from you, Anthony," the malicious voice issuing from the old man's mouth shocked Tony into opening his eyes as he gasped for air. "But I can assure you. Gibbs will suffer tenfold what you endure if we do not get the information we seek from you."

The wicked man brandished the baseball bat again and waited, watched as the agent's head dropped to his chest. He smirked as he heard his prey's broken, sobbing intake of breath.

"...What do you want me to do?"

* * *

_Oooh, don't hurt me. This is all I have right now. R&R, please!_


	4. Relentless

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed- it's really encouraging! Sorry for taking so long to update, my computer died a horrible death the other day..._

_**Warnings: **Very mild language. This fic should live up to its rating soon...

* * *

_

**4. Relentless**

The day wore on, and as the sun sank lower and lower toward the horizon, so did Gibbs' hopes. After hours upon hours of monotony, he had sent his agents home, but he remained. Gibbs plodded through his work, slowly. He tried not to ruminate, but the absence of his senior field agent was gnawing at him like a parasite, feeding off his energy.

It was nearly dark now; the sun was clinging feebly to the edge of the world, and lights were flickering to life on the streets. DiNozzo had never shown up, never called or reported. Not a single word all day long. Pushing away his work roughly, Gibbs growled, pulled on his jacket and got up to leave.

He stopped as something crunched underfoot, and turned his glaring gaze downward.

The coffee cup.

Gibbs growled again. He bent down to retrieve the remnants of his awful morning, wondering how he had managed not to step on it all day long, when his cell phone sprang to life behind him.

The obnoxious ring startled him, but he jumped back to his desk, chastising himself for almost leaving the phone behind. His heart froze mid-beat at the name blinking across the screen. He flipped the device open swiftly, anger bubbling to the surface more quickly than he could smother it.

"Gibbs." His voice was steel, even to his own ears. "If this is you, DiNozzo, you'd better start explaining pretty goddamn fast."

"Hey Boss," came the weak reply, a hint of amusement tinting the edges of his voice. "Missed you, too."

The ex-Marine's mood calmed as he heard Tony's lungs rattle and hack as he coughed, and the worry crept back in to suppress his anger. He abandoned his threats as quick as he'd began.

"You alright, Tony?"

The rattling quieted with the intake of shaking breath. "I'm touched Boss. I didn't know you actually cared about me."

Gibbs went to roll his eyes, but the gesture was halted as the other end of the line grunted, hissed in pain. He opened his mouth to ask if Tony was okay, when his agent started speaking.

"I'm gonna need some time off, Boss. Medical leave."

Alarm trilled through his brain. "Medical? What happened, Tony? Where are you?" The questions poured from his mouth, and he was helpless to stop as the anxiety clawed at his innards. The feeling didn't subside when the younger man chuckled.

"I'm doing alright, Gibbs. Really. Just need a week or two. Procedures, tests, rest and recovery. Normal procedure. No need to worry."

Gibbs paced, still not soothed. "At least let me come check on you, Tony," he asked, determined to keep the begging tone from his voice, but the mood on the other end of the line transformed rapidly.

"No, Gibbs. It's fine. Don't worry about me."

"Tony, I won't feel better until I know you're safe."

Silence blanketed their conversation for a stretch of seconds before his senior agent spoke again. "I promise you, Boss. I am perfectly fine. I just need time." He sounded unfailingly sincere, almost earnest. Gibbs had to concede and leave it be, though his gut still churned.

"Okay, DiNozzo," he sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "I'll let you rest... and Tony?" Gibbs didn't know exactly what he wanted to say, but something lurked in the shadows of his mind.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"... Stay safe."

He could almost hear Tony's smirk. "You too, Gibbs. Bye."

The line went dead. Gibbs stared at the crushed coffee cup and willed his gut to be wrong.

Walking briskly, he made his way toward the Director's office.

* * *

Director Jenny Sheppard did not even look up from the file in her hands when Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs barged into her office. By now, he assumed that she was used to his antics. There was no stopping him when he wanted to speak to her, anyway- her assistants merely ignored him when he had that _look _in his eyes.

"Evening, Jethro."

An icy silence persisted as Gibbs stared at his superior. He took in the bags under her eyes, the open bottle on her desk, the half-empty glass beside it, and weighed his options. Casual? Accusing? Maybe he should have waited til morning, but it was too late now to stop what he had started. With a deep breath, he began.

"Agent DiNozzo just called requesting sick leave. No formal documentation from his doctors yet, confirming the need for leave." He stood, his stance firm and his arms clasped behind his back as if he were giving a formal report. Jen did not even flinch. In fact, her eyes did not move from the papers she held.

"Very well. Thank you, Special Agent Gibbs. I appreciate being informed so promptly." Now, she did look up, an eyebrow raised. As if she were daring him to question her authority. Gibbs continued, his tone more acerbic than before.

"I thought you might know why he reported in so late. If he had been otherwise engaged in something I am unaware of?" His stance remained the same, but his voice grew more and more acidic with each word. Jen smirked, eyebrow still raised, and drained what was left of the drink on her desk.

"That sounds very accusatory, Jethro. But would you care to elaborate? I'm afraid I have no clue what you're talking about."

Gibbs hissed as he drew in another breath and lurched forward, slamming his fist against the desk. "Do you remember, Madam Director, what I said would happen if you included any of my agents in one of your undercover schemes again?" The smirk on her lips remained, and Gibbs felt the anger consuming him again. He nearly exploded when she laughed.

"You sound like you think you are _my _superior, Jethro. You are sorely mistaken. Last time I checked, _I _was director of NCIS, not you." She stood emphatically, swaying gently from her liquor, and continued. "I will do as I see fit. But as of right now, DiNozzo is not undercover for me or anyone else. Happy?" Jenny sat heavily, and took up her papers once more. "You may leave my office now, Agent Gibbs. Good night."

Jethro stood, staring sadly at his ex-partner's face, and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he paused and spoke.

"You've changed, Jen. I'm not sure it's for the better."

He left without another word as his director ignored his words.

* * *

The days slipped by at a torturous pace. Paperwork continued to pile up and no field work came in to relieve them. Gibbs had alerted his team to the reason for DiNozzo's absence, but they just as on edge as he was. Ziva snapped at McGee whenever he spoke and played with her knife silently, staring murderously at nothing in particular. McGee sat at his computer and spoke very rarely, after a few encounters with Ziva. He jumped whenever addressed, and Gibbs could see him close his eyes occasionally and just sit there, brow furrowed. All three of them were minimally courteous to the director when they encountered her.

Gibbs would take out his cell phone a few times each day, and scroll through the numbers until he got to Tony's number. He would call, even though he knew there would be no answer, and listen to Tony's voice. Every single time, just before it reached the beep, he would snap the phone shut. It worried him, that Tony wouldn't have his phone on. Maybe he was checking messages occasionally- but Gibbs couldn't leave a message, no matter how hard he tried.

After four full days had gone by, Gibbs was downright anxious. No word from Tony, or any medical notice about him. His gut screamed that something was wrong, and Gibbs decided he couldn't avoid it anymore.

Grabbing his effects, he breezed past his underlings and bolted for the elevator. Both looked up, confused. However, after exchanging an emphatic look, they remained seated. Gibbs was acting strange these days, and Ziva and McGee decided it was best to let the man go alone to do whatever it was he had to. There was no stopping him once he started something he was determined to finish.

* * *

A sleek Dodge Charger pulled up in front of the apartment building Tony lived in. It slowed, parked, rumbled for a few moments, and then the engine purred to a stop. Gibbs stepped out, peering at the address scribbled on a sheet of paper in his hand, oblivious to the rain pattering on himself and the blurring ink. As far as he could tell, this was the right place, but it didn't seem much like a place Tony would live.

The building itself looked older, very beautifully crafted in brick and stone. He'd always pegged Tony as more of a modern architecture kind of guy... but his senior field agent never ceased to surprise him. The surrounding area was relatively quiet, too- no loud music, no noisy college kids. A few shops, but mostly residential buildings. If he'd had to wager, he would have guessed Tony lived in a frat house somewhere; the man couldn't seem to move on from his college days. Gibbs smiled, proud of the younger man, and hurried to get out of the rain.

Gibbs managed to look casual, holding the door open for a woman who was trying to exit with a carriage, before slipping in. When he got to the stairwell, he took the steps two at a time up to Tony's floor. Once in the hallway, he was calm and collected once again.

The corridor was quiet, warmly lit by mounted lamps. Gibbs traipsed up and down until he found the right number, but there he hesitated.

If Tony wanted to receive calls, he would have left his cell on. If he wanted to be bothered, he would pick up his house phone. Perhaps he should have let things lie, and left this whole mess alone.

But, again, his gut said different. He knocked firmly on the door.

"DiNozzo?"

No reply.

He knocked a few more times, but he knew it was useless. Gibbs dug back in his memory, trying to remember if Tony had mentioned keeping a spare key anywhere...

Then, he recalled Tony saying what a blessing it was that the cleaning ladies didn't move any of the plants in the hallway when they vacuumed. When asked why, he had abruptly closed his mouth and refused to say anything more. Gibbs sprang to the end of the hallway and lifted a fake fern from its resting place.

There, in the middle of a discolored circle of carpet, was a silver key.

Gibbs hesitated again, feeling guilty about invading his agent's privacy, but he knew he would not be able to rest until he found some evidence that Tony was alright. He snatched up the key and opened the heavy door.

* * *

  
Rubbing a frustrated hand through his hair, Gibbs stood in the elevator of the apartment building, watching the light click slowly toward "Lobby". His quick search had revealed nothing other than the fact that DiNozzo had not been home in a few days. A pile of mail behind the door showed nothing but a few magazines and a few bills. Nothing from a hospital, or anything even remotely medical in nature. All opened mail, piled on his kitchen counter, was similar- bills, advertisements, magazines, and newsletters. He wasn't necessarily thorough- it felt wrong to tear Tony's place apart- but he had forced himself to check Tony's medicine cabinet. Nothing there had struck him as odd, either. Toothbrush and paste, Advil, bandages, and some allergy medication.

All in all, everything seemed fine. That made Gibbs even more suspicious.

The elevator doors slid open at the lobby, revealing a small, elderly woman with her frizzing white hair tucked up in a bonnet. Gibbs smiled cordially, stepping out and leaving his arm between the doors to keep them from sliding shut.

"Why, thank you, young man," she smiled, stepping into the cab gratefully. He nodded, and went to walk to the door.

Suddenly, something overtook him, and he turned back to slip his arm between the almost closed doors again.

"Pardon me, miss," he said pleasantly, attempting to be as charming as possible, "I was wondering if you could help me with something?"

Her lined face lit up at the word "miss", and she chortled happily, leaning on the large umbrella she carried. "Certainly."

Gibbs leaned further into the doorway, trying to look innocent. "Well, I haven't seen a friend of mine in a few days, and I was just wondering if you'd seen him at all? I was just worried that he's gotten sick..."

"I don't know _everyone_in the building, dear," she puzzled, pulling off her hat, "But if you tell me a name, I may be able to help."

"Anthony DiNozzo?"

Gibbs kept himself from rolling his eyes as the woman's face darkened. Of course, he was just as popular here as everywhere else.

"_That _hooligan. I didn't think he kept any company as nice as yours. I haven't seen him in quite a few days now, and frankly I am glad. Such a pest. Loud, obnoxious, always watching movies with that infernal 'surround sound' that shakes the building. Good riddance to him."

The ex-marine carefully kept his face clear of emotions, but he was quickly getting tired of this old woman's babbling. "He can be... trying. But do you remember maybe when you last saw him?" His charm was on full blast, and the woman was definitely flattered into responding.

"Oh, four or five days ago, I think. Was being carried off by some burly man, out the side entrance. Suppose he's turned from those young prostitutes to men now. I was surprised- never pegged him as a _queer_..."

The charm shut off completely as his patience snapped.

"Being _carried off_?" he asked incredulously. "You saw him being carried, against his will, by a strange man. And you didn't think _anything_ of it?"

The woman was shocked, her mouth hanging open. "I... I..." she stuttered in disbelief at the venomous tone Gibbs had adopted.

"Are you aware, ma'am," Gibbs growled, taking a step into the cab, "That Anthony DiNozzo is a federal agent, specifically _my _senior field agent, at Naval Criminal Investigative Service? N. C. I. S." He took a step with each letter, emphatically, toward the older woman. Her face had gone white and she stared at the disgusted man before her. All she could do was stare and shake her head back and forth.

"Next time you see anything remotely suspicious," he snarled, stepping out of the elevator slowly,"Report it. Thank you for your help, ma'am."

The doors slid closed behind him as he stalked toward the front door.

* * *

The car protested as the needle on the speedometer crept farther and farther from zero. Special Agent Gibbs was furious, and determined to get back to NCIS to confront the director. His phone buzzed angrily in the cup holder, and he grabbed it, flipping the device open.

"Gibbs."

"Ah, I do have the right number. Good afternoon, Special Agent Gibbs."

Jethro's eyes narrowed at the pleasant voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm assuming you're the ones who have Tony."

"A clever deduction, my friend."

Gibbs slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped at extremely illegal speeds toward headquarters. "If you've laid a hand on him, I'll fucking kill you myself."

The pleasant voice chuckled- a deep, velvety sound that made Gibbs see red. "Be happy that he is still alive, Gibbs. And know that, if you don't comply, his condition could deteriorate _quite _rapidly."

"I normally don't negotiate with bastards like you," he growled, "But maybe I'll make an exception, if I get my agent back alive."

The chuckled resonated in his ear once more. "You are relentless, Special Agent Gibbs. I'll give you that much."

"You have **no** idea."

* * *

_Bah!  
Scatterbrained chapter, I know. Sorry for the delay in updating- hope it was worth the wait._


	5. Forsaken

_A/N: Well, here we go. Sorry for the huge delay, but what with a life to take care of, exams to study for, and friendships to maintain... Not to mention that I hated writing every word of this chapter..._

_Here we are, Chapter 5 of Mysterious Minds._

_**Warnings: **Mildly disturbing thoughts and images, beginnings of torture._

**5. Forsaken**

As soon as the phone snapped shut, loud in his straining ears, Tony's stomach plummeted. The noise rang, echoed ominously between his ears like a declaration. The deed was done, and DiNozzo struggled not to let his fear show through. Gibbs was put off the scent, at least for a while. Madame Director would not reveal anything to him, even if she was suspicious. Maybe she would call his phone. Maybe she would feel her nerves stretch with anxiety when it went straight to voice mail. Or maybe she would just assume he had begun the mission for which he had been preparing for weeks.

He was left alone, to his thoughts, as the dark closed in once more. There was only a faint glimmer of light, barely enough to be comforting, but none of it mattered. In the gloom, the young agent reflected. He put his life on the line every day- well, often enough. Tony knew that the integrity of the operation was of utmost importance, and the Director would not ruin their chance for anything. And now, faced with the possibility of death, he was surprised. There was fear- he was human, after all- but he was rather resigned to the idea. He must protect their contact, protect classified information known only to himself and Jenny. If his life was forfeit... so be it. He had called off those who would try to save him, and he would take his information to his grave. Tony steeled himself, running scenario after scenario through his head, wondering what was going to become of him. He'd seen enough movies to be sufficiently afraid. He cringed as horrifying images flashed beneath his closed eyes, shrank away from the pain that had not even come.

But, his mission took priority. And, as much as he liked Jenny Sheppard, Tony believed she would feel exactly the same way.

Beneath the surface, turmoil roiled, despair fighting to breach his calm exterior, but he swallowed back the fright valiantly. A deep breath was all that he allowed himself- if there was going to be a struggle for his life, he did not need to be struggling with himself. He accepted what was to come, and accepted that extreme possibility which frightened him more than anything else on the face of the earth.

Memories flitted behind closed eyes, a bittersweet slide show of the past. Most were more recent, the childhood clouded by his blossoming golden years (soon to be cut short). Ducky, Kate, McGee, Abby, Ziva, Palmer.

Gibbs. He was prevalent, from the headsmacks to the few, treasured grains. Tony sighed. The man had played such a large role in his life for years, had been there more constantly than any other. They watched out for each other.

Gibbs might be the only one he would truly regret leaving behind.

* * *

The young captive lay, relaxed, on the chained table, staring unseeingly into the uncertain shapes which now lingered in the half light of his cell. The small amount of light offered comfort to him, and he did not even flinch as the heavy door behind him squealed open. His eyes did not move from their target of the ceiling, even as footsteps approached and the light intensified. He shut his eyes defiantly.

"You seem quite calm, Anthony," remarked the familiar captor's voice, and there was a flash. That damn Polaroid. But still Tony lay unmoving.

The man moved over to the wall, fumbled for a few moments, and then stepped back, admiring something.

"I think that this may turn into my best collection yet," he murmured before turning back to his prey, making a soft tutting noise. "Really, it is a shame. So handsome. If you're wise, you won't waste these fine features. Cooperation would be in your best interest."

Silence and stillness filled the empty space as Tony refused to respond. The smile began to fade from the older man's face, when suddenly Tony's nature took over.

"Best for you, maybe," he snorted cynically, the corners of the agent's mouth turning up in a mirthless smile. However, the lips quickly firmed back into a straight as a hand clasped his jaw in a firm grip.

"I cannot _wait,_" the old man purred sweetly, "To see how exquisite you look when in agony, Agent DiNozzo." The hand slipped down beneath his chin and fingers pressed suggestively against his exposed throat, but Tony kept his expression obstinately.

His captor let out a sigh, obviously disappointed that Tony would not play. "Very well. I'll call Marcus, and then we shall begin."

DiNozzo shuddered as the footsteps faded once more. He could hardly hold back a shocked cry as a bag was slipped over his head, blinding him. The bear-like man's hands gripped his wrists, pulling him roughly from his chains, then his ankles, and he was set on the floor. Stiff and sore from his time hanging there, he longed to crumple to the floor and relieve his aches, but he continued to stand. He maintained his composure, not uttering a single sound.

"Going keep your silence forever, DiNozzo?" he asked in a low drawl as he tightened the bonds, pulling maliciously. "You are so enjoyable to speak with."

Tony stood, still as a statue. "I wish I could say the same of you." He did allow himself a smirk as Marcus muttered something in a disgusted voice under his breath, but cringed as a huge hand connected painfully with his lower back.

"Let's go, pretty boy."

Tony winced at the next rough shove to the center of his back.

* * *

The agent was taken from his prison, aching from the lack of movement. Though his knees wobbled, his skin prickled, his bare stung against the cold cement floor, Tony marched on resolutely. His breath came quickly, thickened by his anxiety. He tried to keep track of the turns they made (left, right, veer right, left, left again) but it soon became too much to remember them all. His head throbbed; he wished he'd had more than that single bite of frozen waffle this morning. Completely blind and guided only by rude shoves, he stumbled on.

Time stretched as he bumped into walls and tripped around what he could only assume were corners.

Suddenly, the agent felt a rush of warm, moist air against his skin as he heard a muffled "swish" of an opening door. It was almost comforting, like a balmy summer's breeze, but he knew he couldn't let his guard down. Even as the walked in, and the warmth wrapped itself around him, Tony mentally pinched himself. They weren't going to baby him, treat him as an honored guest; They were going to try to extract information.

He was not prepared as the restraints were ripped from his body, along with his last remaining scraps of clothing and dignity. Tony shivered, ashamed and exposed as he was chained again. The bag was pulled from his head, and he groaned as the white light was shone directly into his eyes.

* * *

By the time his eyes had adjusted, blinking indignantly at the severely increased intensity, Tony was extremely disoriented. He was alone in a sterile room, clean white and obviously medicinal in purpose. He was chained in the center, his arms pulled painfully wide and his ankles fastened to the floor with bolts and shackles. His body shook in fear, and he no longer made any attempt to hide it.

He nearly yelped in fear as the door slid open. The elderly man stepped before him, still dressed as superbly as he had been before, but with his sleeves rolled up and the camera slipped around his neck. Glasses perched on his nose. Tony closed his eyes as a wave of nausea crashed over him.

The man stepped up and gripped the younger man's jaw again, turning the youthful face first to one side, then the other. Tony cringed as the man's warm breath washed over his face, filling his nostrils with the scent of mint. The chuckle made him cringe further.

"Fear, Anthony? I hadn't expected it so soon."

*click,flash*

Tony allowed a growl to slip past his lips. He could practically hear the grin spreading across his captor's face.

"Beautiful."

He heard the snap of fingers, and the whoosh of an opening door. The trembling commenced again.

* * *

Tony cried out as the rapid spout of water pounded against his bare skin. It was alternately boiling hot, and excruciatingly chilled, but he could hardly register the temperature change under the immense pressure. He knew what they were doing, and tried to tell himself it wasn't working.

But, he knew deep down it was.

The man who had followed the snap of Old Man's fingers was dressed in OR garb. Perhaps for affect, or for an actual reason. Tony couldn't really tell, but at this point he didn't care enough to decide. His body was swabbed completely in some antiseptic solution, covering him from head to foot. He had blinked as the burning liquid trickled into his eyes and sputtered as it flowed into his mouth.

The man he dubbed Doctor had then sifted through a tray of shining metal tools. Tony looked away, closing his eyes, unwilling to see what he picked up.

He gasped in surprise as a cool metal blade touched to his chest. He thought it was a knife, until he heard it buzz to life, and the tool scraped down his chest.

They were shaving him? Odd. But he could deal.

Or so he thought, until the razor was put to his scalp, legs, arms... and everywhere in between. Tony shivered in shame as he thought about how truly naked he was, under this blinding spotlight and in absolutely nothing but his skin, the medicinal stench wafting strongly around him.

Old Man was obviously still there: Tony could hear the click of his expensive shoes on the floor and the click of the goddamn camera.

_It's just mental, DiNozzo, _Tony told himself, trying to will himself to open his eyes, _They're just trying to make you feel ashamed. Take away your confidence. Emasculate you. You can handle this._

But, if there was one thing Tony valued in himself, it was his suave machismo. Being a man's man.

Tony knew they had discovered his weaknesses, and knew that they would exploit them completely to get what they wanted.

Maybe this was the beginning of the end. He opened his eyes and stared defiantly into the lens aimed at him.

* * *

When the brutal hose was finally turned off, Tony drew in a sharp breath, willing his beaten, scarred lungs to take in precious oxygen. The anitseptic had washed off his skin, but the smell still remained, stinging his nostrils. He breathed deeply, slowing himself cautiously. He had to try to maintain his strength. Showing his fear would only encourage them.

"Well, Anthony," Tony heard the old, deep voice say, interupting his thoughts, "You've been cleaned up and prepared for our fun and games now. Marcus will escort you back to your lodgings, and shortly we'll begin."

Tony's raw nerves and aching muscles protesting as Marcus grabbed at him, and he groaned inwardly as the huge man's body pressed unnecessarily close. Outwardly, though, he glared in protest at Old Man, who was thumbing through his handful of photographs. An unsettling grin spread across his face, and Tony looked away.

As his bonds were removed, Tony shivered as he was manhandled, pushed toward the door.

"Goodbye for now, Agent DiNozzo," echoed the sinister farewell, as Tony tried not to think of the horrors that lay before him.

* * *

_Sorry for yet another scatterbrained chapter. Trying very hard not to make it so choppy, but it's like Tony's fading in and out of reality.  
More very soon, I have the chapters all worked out. Thanks for your patience!_


End file.
